Don't Call Us We'll Call You
by Devil Mushroom
Summary: A depiction of Logos and Ormi's leave of Yevon and first meeting with the Madame Leblanc.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: OMG! How long has it been?! Ok so I'm back in action, well trying to get back in action with my fanfics; I'm determined to finish what I started.

I've had this idea since I wrote Crimson Report 1 so I thought it was time to finally get my butt in gear and write it down. It was supposed to just be a one-shot, but a lot like many things I write it started getting longer and longer and more complex and so it's going to be split into two chapters.

I'm clearly very rusty. I'm not satisfied with the way this fic is written at all so far but I just kept struggling to improve it so I think this is the best it's gonna get. Apologise for that, hopefully if I can get back into the swing of things my writing will get back up to scratch.

Enjoy.

The icy rain began to beat against the shimmering lake's surface, reeds and lily pads trembling at its might. The water danced and sprang to it's brethren from the sky, reuniting jubilantly. These prancing droplets were gently shifted however as a great regal figure parted the depths of the Moonflow, plodding delicately upon the supple riverbed, the liquid lapping against its trunk-like legs. On occasion it would unravel its long nose to scoop up a ball of fluid and pour it smoothly into it's mouth, or perhaps shoot it out again and spray it across the lake top; mirroring the rain in playful wonder.

Unfortunately, though a beautiful sight indeed the Moonflow was this evening, the inhabitants of the shoopuf's carriage were anything but at this present time. The hypello coachman was an exception, neat and pressed with a surprisingly crisp and straight jacket and slacks, his passengers on the other hand were bedraggled and dilapidated. They were the last customers of the day, two young men, one tall and gangly, and the other short and wide in stature, both seated quietly, tired, in the darkness towards the back of the little pod. The hypello would glance back from time to time only to see their murky silhouettes against the raging weather. He had tried to start conversations but ultimately it wasn't worth the breath, whether the pair were too exhausted for speech or they were simply being rude, all his exerts had either gone unheard or simply been cut off by a blunt response. With this in mind, he had felt it better to just remain silent and leave the brooding gentlemen to, well brood, and deliver them to the other side of the Moonflow as quickly as possible. This basic plan was now coming to its closure as his loyal steed mounted the eastern shore. The hypello overheard the tall man mutter agitatedly about the shoopuf's jolting mannerisms and, with a smirk, took up his feathered crop and with it gently stroked his partner of sorts behind the ear gratefully. Anything to irritate these coarse customers even more, he did not care if they ever returned to his services; it was a niche selection of customers he and his troop didn't need.

'Wooooo!' He called, tugging forcefully on the reins and giving his shoopuf three sharp taps on the shoulder with his crop.

A motley crew of three other hypellos babbled and lowed as they lifted mats and ramps and cranked rusted handles. The familiar metallic cage arose to the carriage, bare and dirtied from a day's hard work. The coachman sighed and felt that pettiness couldn't be so great as to be so impolite not to wish these travellers farewell.

'Time tooo dishmoount.' He soughed, 'Goooodbye, thank yooou.'

The black, drenched figures swept past; not a word. The cage dipped a few inches as the larger of the two men entered and the taller one released an annoyed tut. One of the hypellos on the ground began to re-crank the handle and, with loud clunks, rope began to thread steadily through the rickety pulley above until the cage hit the steel platform at the base with a deep clanging sound. The cage door creaked open once again as the figures strode out, keeping heads facing forward and ignoring the furiously bowing hypellos and their bleats of, 'Thank yooou! Thank yoou!'

It was here, after some brisk walking, did the two figures break into a steady run, past the notice board with its soggy papers and over a small, but none the less, perilous log bridge that hovered over the creek. They did not cease again until within the protective arms of the large imposing willows and elms.

'For the love of Yevon!'

A sodden and wiry scarf hit the moist earth with such force that oozing lumps of mud flung upwards into the trees causing a flock of birds to become flustered and soar away.

'What kind of ff-' the tall man bit the inside of his lower lip, attempting to prevent the profanity, 'ff- weather do you call this!'

The fat man threw his podgy arms above his head but was still hit by the debris of wet dirt as they rebounded back.

'Geez, Logos look what yous did!' He griped, running one of his huge fists over his face to peel off the muck. 'And yous ruined that scarf too.'

Logos simply scowled. The hefty man blinked a few times, bemused, needing a little more time than the average person to catch on to this response.

'Won't yas mum be mad?'

The scowl contorted into a twisted knot of muscle and skin, teeth bearing and bloodshot eyes piercing through tight eyelids.

'Oh! Oh yeah,' the bulky man said, rubbing his neck bashfully, 'yous can't go home. Sorry.'

'Well done, Ormi, you've finally crack it. After I've been grousing, fretting and bellyachey about it for the past day and a half you finally understand. I think this is a new intellectual breakthrough for you; congratulations.'

'I said Is was sorry. Is got used to blocking yous out when you're complaining.'

Ormi waddled forward awkwardly and looked down sadly at the tattered and mudded scarf. With his tubby thumb and index finger he pinched a corner of the feeble fabric and held it out in front of him before returning it to Logos. He swung it towards Logos definitely and, reluctantly and sulkily, Logos took it, laying it lengthways in his palms. Ormi shoved his hands into his arm pits and with chattering teeth gazed out from their shelter at the rain, Logos simply peered down at the line of material in his hands with a very vacant and mournful expression.

It was a dreadful feeling; having no security. So much condensed chaos had occurred in the last four days, after approximately a month after the Lady Yuna's victory over Sin and that betraying bastard Lord Seymour, Yevon made the conscious decision to disband and reform. This decision had been cast to perhaps implement a new culture to accompany Yevon since, understandably, their image had been brutally bruised and scarred from the recent events. It was announced the faction was to be politically restructured with a whole new hierarchy; the current one was to be totally scrapped and although fashioned similarly with: Captains, High Captains, Elite Captains, Head Captains and so on, all those currently appointed would be pillaged of their titles and new contenders for the positions would be considered. In addition to this it was decreed that no longer would Yevon be ruled by Maesters and priests, since they now held connotations of deceit; instead a Praetor would lead the sector. Logos and Ormi, regardless, were doubtful that this would bring much overall change.

Of course all this reorganising would take time so, four days ago, every single one of the city's soldiers and recruits (excluding highly held officials) were dismissed. This had angered many considering this request to take leave had been executed without pay so it seemed the commonality of Yevon's society found themselves now without jobs or funds. Yevon was simply unable to pay up however, with such destruction and commotion occurring there, in plain, they had not a scrap of gil to be spared. They each had been given two days to organise their belongings and get out.

Making soldiers extinct from the streets was not a problem that should have bothered Ormi or Logos, considering this was the chance they had been waiting, praying for; a chance to take their leave without appearing cowardice or weak. It was arranged between the two of them that they would hunt for a new occupation, one as sphere hunters. In the mean time, since they were unsure of how easy or difficult it would to acquire work, Logos would return back to his family home in the most easterly part of Bevelle and after gathering his things Ormi would join too since there was plenty of spare room and Opal Menkaura (Logos' mother) very much enjoyed Ormi's enthusiasm for her cooking. However, it was also established between the pair that they needed to begin their search as soon as possible, thusly they would but drop off their items at the abode and, after perhaps some food and a change of clothes, head out again immediately.

A change of clothes was vital, since Yevonites were almost constantly in uniform soldiers didn't see the point in bringing spare clothes when stationed in the military accommodation. Besides, when one did go out in one's personal time there were just so many servicemen about the area that no one really saw much point in making the effort to look different from their work personas; the bars were always filled to the brim with men in armour soaking themselves in magic liquids until they were drowned for the evening. Logos' mother, anal and somewhat protective, always nagged Logos to take a change of clothes despite these arguments and since the deaths of Ormi's grandparents he had absolutely everything he ever owned squeezed into his minute dorm. Unfortunately Logos only ever grabbed the grottiest and most simplistic items he could find, often an oversized t-shirt handed down to him from his elder brother and a pair of slacks with rips lining the ends of the legs. Ormi on the other hand had just not possessed an excuse to buy any personal clothes for the past few years and thus had none. Would you have guessed it as well, the army were demanding their uniforms back, probably to redesign them to support their new culture. Before leaving their dorms they had managed to discover and old shirt of Ormi's that, although tight, still fitted him and succeeded in making him appear half way respectable, however trousers were a different story all together, it would have seemed Ormi had gain some considerable weight over the past couple of years and thus poor Ormi had to spend some of his last dribbles of gil on a new pair of smart trousers.

Logos had left Ormi to rearrange his possessions, deciphering what to keep and what to discard, and made the journey back to the Menkaura household. He'd arrived by cab, the commission split between himself and Kanye, his brother, four years his senior, who'd accompanied him to, obviously, return home until the 'New Yevon' formed. The house, narrow but very tall, much like it's inhabitants, was perched on the top of a hill surrounded by lush forest along with five other houses to create a cosy and, it must be said, very wealthy cul-de-sac. The Menkaura children had spent the entirety of their lives here, the sound of waves oscillating through the trees from the coast, but fifteen minutes away, had always been a refreshing sonance for Logos' ears to drink in on every one of his returns; it was a sound he missed deeply every time he had to go away.

His elder brother took great strides up the gravelled path, greatly anticipating the reunion that awaited him; however Logos did not move, he stood at the gate, staring blankly ahead. He'd suddenly felt every essence of joy and excitement trickle out of his body, through his bony fingers, and could almost sense it splattering on the stones around him. He felt a sputtering green flame within himself; envying his brother's exuberance, Logos instead was left behind with uneasiness and apprehension. It was today he would have to tell his mother he was leaving Yevon, for good. Negotiations between Logos' mother and himself had been very turbulent throughout the past year, namely because she was lonely now; there was no one there to make her supple. A year ago, Logos's father had past away due to illness and since then Opal had become unspeakably protective and smothering towards him. There was a theory that this was because, out of all the Menkaura children, Logos was the most like his father and his mother obviously wanted to nurture this. However Logos had always yearned for independence, in fact as he grew older he demanded it; he preferred solitude and this had caused much bumping of heads between the pair. Then this, this would make Opal upset and distressed and although Logos never considered himself a 'good son' one must agree that decent children do not relish seeing their parents unhappy. Also, Opal had always held Yevon as her utmost priority and encouraged her boys to do the same; Logos had been slipping away from these ideals since he was about ten years of age and this in tandem made Opal concerned that she'd done a poor job at raising her son or that there was something wrong with him. There was truthfully nothing wrong, only Logos had always identified with his father more and the rest of his brothers all seemed to be more balanced and empathised with both parents equally; he just stuck out like a sore thumb is all, every family must have a black sheep. But the point was, with all this frustration, silent dislike and discomfort, Logos wasn't entirely sure how his mother would react to his news, he was almost certain she'd be unhappy and probably angry but he couldn't decipher as to what degree. It was anyone's guess.

Kanye had gripped the round and bold brass knocker on the front doors with a sturdy hand and had beaten it against its plate barely three times when the door was swung open with an energetic force. A spindly, middle-aged woman with a somewhat withered face stood before them, hair knotted into a tight and exceedingly tidy bun on the crown of her head, perfectly plucked black and preened eyebrows, plump lips and clad head to toe in loosely hanging, deep green dress. She also wore a wide, beaming grin. Without a breathe she flung herself at the pair, embracing them in such a way that Logos feared he may suffocate, and squealing about how jubilant she was to see them.

'Come in! Come in!' She shrilled merrily.

The pair were booted inside clumsily, into a long hallway paved with marble tiles and lined with white-washed walls presenting family portraits and heirlooms and towards the back there was an elegant spiral staircase embroidered with a rich red carpet and sparkling black and gold railings.

'Ooo! I have not been able to settle myself once I was enlightened of your return.' Opal tattled as she nabbed the coats from their backs and set them upon the rack. 'What by Yevon made your peregrination so persistent? It did bait me.'

Opal had always spoken in an overly formal and almost archaic fashion, using sentence structures and syntax Logos was sure hadn't been familiar in decades and exerting advanced vocabulary that often confused his younger brothers.

'Ah ah ah! Look at your hair!' Opal gasped snatching Logos's arm and sneering at his wind rustled hair. 'When did you last have it cut? Tis a dishevelment! An eyesore!'

'I think you're overreacting a bit, mother' Logos replied matter-a-factly.

'You've been parading around like that! Here, grant me to rectify it.'

'Oooooh.' He moaned as he watched his brother creep away down the hallway too the kitchen where he could hear children's voices chatter.

Much like a young child himself, Logos attempted to slither out of his mother's clutches and away from her snapping hands but alas she had had many years of experience and escape was simply futile; Logos came to the conclusion that it was best to stay put and allow his mother to finish. She threaded a few rivalling hairs back behind his ear.

'There, much more respectable.'

She gave him another wide, toothy grin and patted him on the back a few times, ushering him into the kitchen. This room was much wider and expansive than any other in the house and thus was used very frequently by the family; at least two members could always be found here. Today all four of his younger brothers, all under the age of ten, could be found at the table, squabbling over breakfast foods and overstretching to claim cutlery and beverages. Kanye had now placed himself at the head of this table and was lazily chewing a piece of toast. Feeling rather awkward at the sight of his brothers, fully aware that he hadn't seen them in over a year; inwardly shocked at how much they'd all grown, he decided to direct his focus towards the back of a kitchen where a woman much tinier and slightly older than his mother stood, in front of heaving sink of dirty plates. Una was the Menkaura's housekeeper, an absolutely miniature woman with a weather-beaten and droopy face and mousy brown hair held back scruffily by a bandana. She was extremely kindly and loyal but painfully senile, Logos recalled when she first came she could barely speak a word that they could comprehend; his father always had an idea that it was some form of Gypsy tongue she spoke. Still feeling that great discomfort Logos blurted chirpily,

'Hello Una!'

She flinched and with ungainly mannerisms turned around to face him, eyes floating about in their sockets before settling on his form and then finally giving a stunted bow and saying nothing. A small head at the table, round and delicate with floppy black hair, spun round. It gasped and before he knew it, Logos found a nine-year-old child hitting him square in the chest and that head being buried momentarily into his shoulder before resurfacing and grinning at him. Following this cue he also discovered a six-year-old clutching his ragged slacks and a seven-year-old desperately trying to show him so form of craft work. One of the greatest mysterious in life for Logos was why his brothers enjoyed his company so much. He fully admitted that he was grouchy, ill tempered, irritated easily, sarcastic and critical, he would have never described himself as good with children in the slightest, that was one little strand of his father's DNA he hadn't received and he generally found children pest-like and even a little disgusting. Regardless his younger brethren just fawned over him; perhaps it was because Kanye, arrogant and proud, point blank ignored them and Logos intensely resented these qualities, at least to the degree Kanye exhibited them. Speaking of which Logos could see a mild glower painted over Kanye's face, aggravated and addled as to why his brothers weren't fascinated by his yearly achievements. Children simply aren't interested in medals and certificates; they're more inspired by creating art out of food, as Isaiah was demonstrating.

'Right, everyone complacent?' Opal trumpeted, her heels clopping into the room. 'Oh Aslan do detach yourself, look, you're furrowing Logos's shirt.'

Logos spotted his moment.

'Actually, mother, I needed to change anyhow,' he plonked a, now somewhat disappointing looking, Aslan back onto the tiles. 'I'm going to make the assumption that my clothes are actually where they're supposed to be this time; in my wardrobe…in my bedroom?'

The last time he had come home his mother had attempted to turn his room into some form of recreational room with ridiculous things in it such as billiard and card tables, a harp from Yevon knows where, several easels and some noisy and ghastly arcade machine that one of his brothers must have begged for.

'Isaiah please, resituate that renaissance back onto the refrigerator; give your brother a trice to remit. And Zahi, desist, his shirt is already spoilt let his trousers be!'

Thrusting her arms towards them she steadily batted the younger siblings away.

'Mother, did you hear what I said?'

'Una, may I request a handful more eggs for the breakfast table?'

'Mother?'

'I did heed you Logos, but honestly you only just arrived. Must you really redress now?'

Logos pursed his lips and gave his mother a very drained and peevish expression.

'You know how finicky you were with my hair just now?' He said, pointing to his head, his hair had already fallen back out of place.

His mother simply looked at him with a raised eyebrow, puzzled.

'What exactly are your opinions on this?'

He sighed and tugged at the ends of his shirt and pulled it up towards his breastbone. Zahi gave a loud snort, spitting milk across the table, Aslan tried his best not to do the same with his mouthful of cereal and Kanye gave a long, low groan of distaste.

'Ahhoh!' Opal cried.

This particular pair of ripped trousers had been sent to Logos from his maternal grandmother, paired with a letter that informed Opal that her second eldest was far too skinny and needed to eat more red meat. They were now suspended, sluggishly around the middle of his thighs and threatening to delve lower, this exposed a wonderfully tattered pair of boxer that Logos would have rather not shown off since they held very secret and saucy stories. He delivered the same drained expression.

'Please?'

His mother didn't move for a moment, hands clasped around her mouth and a horrified expression, the little clean freak nudging at her under the surface of her pale skin. She slowly lowered her hands so that only one was at the side of her face and the other wagged towards the hallway.

'Up, up, up!' She clucked, telling him to go upstairs.

He slipped his fingers into the slacks and zestfully yanked them back up to well above his waist where they immediately slumped again back to his hips. Allowing his shirt to flop back down he slunk towards the doorway and began to climb the staircase, his mother following at a brisk and busy trot. She eventually bustled through in front of him, tottering along the upstairs corridor, fumbling for something, Logos craned his neck to see as he advanced on the top of the stairs and heard an odd jingling noise of that of a key on a chain. On ascending the landing Logos saw that his mother was bumbling about inelegantly before his bedroom door, he approached, and unfortunately his mother hadn't considered that Logos was older now and six inches taller than her. He approached cautiously, cocking his head to peek over her shoulder. He heard her curse meekly under her breath (she never used straight foul language) as she tried to gripped the key with a shaking hand and slot it into the lock.

'Goodness aren't we the little operative.' He jeered.

She squawked loudly in alarm and a hollow 'chink' echoed through the upstairs as the key hit the floor. She was now spread, back against the door wearing a very incriminating and embarrassed expression. Logos simpered,

'You never were much good at hiding things.'

He bent down and dangled the metallic ring of the key on his index finger, motioning it towards her. Slowly, she took it, biting her lip and eyes examining the carpet. After a few moments, she lifted her head and gave him a small but sweet smile and giving his arm an affection pat, turned around and open the door. Logos wondered whether telling his mother may not be such a deadly action after all.

Logos didn't need three guesses to know why his mother had locked his room. Just as he expected, his forlorn and forgotten room was littered with towers of familiar items, to be exact, his father's familiar items. There were old clothes, suits, uniforms and so on, a chess board he had enjoyed playing at, herculean amounts of medical books and journals, photos and studies he had written, even a painted portrait of him and Opal that Logos had remembered originally being showcased above his parent's bed. Logos esoterically knew that his mother could never find the heart to dispose of any of these special treasures but he also realised that she could not bear to face them either; she'd lock them away in a room that was rarely opened to salvage her heart from it's abyss of pain and misery lest it consume her. Even now her features seemed much more fragile and grey, expression queasy and unsettled. Her head did not swivel on its joint to survey the gems the room had to offer, only fixed dead ahead at the musty wardrobe door at the far right of the room. Her fingers curled round the handle ghost-like and with almost no effort whatsoever she open the door and entered into the tiny secular square room that was his old wardrobe. There was a notable lack of dust in here (compared to the bedroom), Logos had half expected to be eaten by a ghoulish flock of moths as he entered but he identified that Una had clearly snuck in to clean this room often so that all his clothes stayed fresh and tidy; he appreciated this tremendously.

'Now then,' his mother began a little more upbeat since she could no longer see spectral debris of her husband, 'what shall we drape you in?'

She groped and rustled through all his old garments.

'Any white shirt is good, they're all indifferent oh! And those slacks, those navy slacks dad gave me a couple of years back should be suitable.'

Opal lurched, a sort of inward gag as the noun 'dad' began to quiver through her yellow bones. She turned away bit by bit, edges of her mouth trembling and without a word retrieved the items of attire requested. After a few minutes she had them collected in her hands and, as if they were hot coals, thrusted them hurriedly into Logos' so that she needn't look at those trousers for a second longer.

'Tsh tsh,' she peeped, 'you don't wish to clad yourself here, you'll get unwell,' she lurched again, 'from all this fluff and detritus. You can dress in my chamber.'

'Well, er, while I'm here I should collect the rest of my clothes don't you think?'

She blinked at him with tired and watery eyes.

'We can do that task later can't we? You'll be here for several weeks, we have a great duration in which we can bestow your belongings some place else. Which makes me muse, I shall set up a chase for Una downstairs and you can retire in her room until you return to Yevon. I'm still ruminating on where little Ormi can sleep.'

'Little..?' Logos muttered.

She made a 'ssshhh' noise at him that was almost drunkenly. He exhaled heavily, empting his body of all negative images and thoughts, leaving but one; his mother would be passionate and benevolent to his proposal.

'Mother, look, I have something to tell you. I'm not moving my clothes to another room.'

She eyed him, curiously.

'I'm packing them.'

Her eyes, still glossy, inspected his face, fishing within him to grasp some kind of subtext.

'I-I'm,' his words gurgled in his throat, he swallowed, 'I'm not going back to Yevon.'

The liquid coating her eyes turned to ice and her mouth shaped into an ungainly 'o' but twitched and flinched in doing so. Gradually it formed into a gnarled grimace from in and out came short and stammered breathe. A single strand of hair, grey, pinged out of the bun.

'What?' She rumbled.

'I'm packing, taking some things and going with Ormi to find a new occupation.'

'Why?'

He sucked his teeth. He kept picturing this sort of mirror like lens, quaking and shuddering.

'Because Yevon is, it's just no-'

'There is no just reason,' she hissed, 'that question can never be answered by a mortal man. It is futile to provide a conclusion.'

'But, now mother listen to me, just please stop getting all incensed and see this from my perspective.'

'Your perspective?' She screeched. 'There is no other view there is only Yevon's view!'

'Mother, don't!'

'Yevon is infinitely just, knowing and powerful, he is but _the_ one! This family has thrived upon his deeds and taught to refer to them with the highest respect!'

She inhaled sharply, clenching her hands into throbbing fists, pulling every muscle taught until she was but a curled up ball. The mirror was in spasm, palpitating, jerking in aggressive and extreme motions. It shattered, she lunged towards her son.

'You should proudly die for him!' She spat. 'He comes first before all other lusts! Still you fail to consent, you useless, wretched, insufferable child! Runt!!'

'Stop!'

'What would your father think?' She leered.

Logos gaped at his mother's interrogative. His chest heaving, sickening needles piercing in and out of his lungs. That flame burned again but this time it burst into a roaring, savage fire and radiating a deep, blood red. This gape contorted to a glower. He approached his mother, bringing his face threateningly close to hers.

'My father,' he seethed, 'would think me a very noble and truthful man, for recognising mortal man's perception of Yevon is malicious, prejudice and evil.'

A firm, taught, leathering sheet hit Logos' cheek brutally. He had buckled and when he gazed up again he saw his mother's hand held firm cross her body.

'Foul tempter,' she growled, 'you acquire a crippled image of your own father. He was true and loyal to his cause, he stayed in Yevon's right hand until the day he died; his soul is permitted to rest in peace and you disrupt its slumber.'

Logos caressed his burning cheek and reregistered himself so he stood level before his mother again.

'Your soul, it is weak and feeble, evil spirits feast upon such fools as you! Not one comparison can be made between you, a filthy stranger, and my compassionate husband!'

She stormed out of the wardrobe and proceeding to pace round the bedroom heatedly, like a coeurl locked in a cage. Logos' body was numb, he daren't move, he just remained, sifting his fingertips over the fresh bruise and running his tongue over the tops of his bottom teeth.

She slammed her fist upon the chess table. Dust flared up and dashed upon her fuming form.

'Be gone! You leech! Lest you infest us; plague my precious kin with your bribing and toying ways! Yevon frowns upon the Menkaura household, a stain smeared across our family tree. A runt! A runt! He shall scream.'

Logos did not flinch.

'I said be gone!!'

He waited a minute, staring despondently at his raging mother. He stepped out and with noosed breath and sad eyes walked towards the door. He stopped, eyes darting to his right, a scarf, his father's, he snatched it up and wrapped it around his neck.

'Don't touch anything! You thief! Give it back!'

She grappled for it but he retreated away sluggishly.

'You wish me to leave? Then let me have it.'

She rasped.

'That was my husband's'

'I know.'

She grated her teeth viciously, snarling.

'You tease me to bribe you?! Sickening! But it is a sin I shall perform if it is for the greater good! Be..gone!!'

Logos obeyed.

'Heathen!' She howled as he began to descend the stairs. 'Heathen! Heathen! Heathen!!'

He still recalled the flustered and shocked expression on Aslan's face as he raced to greet him at the bottom of the staircase. However Logos did not recall saying anything at all to him, he simply marched on, with his drabs of clothing, out the door. He still recalled the far off sound of foam smashing against the shattering rock; he still recalled it fading away into nothing.

He was now garbed in that very shirt and those very slacks he had left with. Ormi was huddled against the tree, rubbing his hands thoroughly on his imposing biceps, shivering. Logos folded his father's scarf once and tenderly wrapped it back round his neck; that vacant expression on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes:

Heya guys! You thought I'd abandoned you, right? Well WRONG. I'm still writing, and blimey really writing clearly; this was only supposed to be a one shot, now it's gonna be a three chapter story!

There was something I needed to point out about this story but can I remember what it is? No. If I remember, I'll edit it ;-)

* * *

Ormi plodded merrily along the eastern web of streets and roads of Bevelle, his possessions easily, and rather sadly, fitted into a medium sized suitcase and a large satchel that was swung over his shoulder. He whistled to himself softly, it was such a relief to get all the negative emotions of doubt and tension off his shoulders and finally be heading for a new part of his life; a better part. Since his grandparents had passed on he'd felt trapped and almost thought himself to have a lack of purpose, a change like this was what he needed to get over all the dreadful things that had happened to him: his parents being killed by Sin, that terrifying pressure from his grandfather and of course their deaths also. He let the crisp morning breeze swell in his lungs, so refreshing.

"Ormi!"

He stopped. Eyes swivelling side to side.

"Ormi!"

"Yes?" He trumpeted back to the sound, smiling and readying to welcome an old Yevonite friend who wished to walk with him and say cheery goodbyes and 'we shall meet again's. Or something of that nature.

"Ormi! Ormi!"

"Yes? Yes?" He called again chuckling, searching for the fellow who had cried to him, "Is right here!"

He looked up and down the lightly populated road he was on, attempting to spy a familiar face. Eventually he did, but unfortunately one that was too familiar.

"Ormi," Logos panted, walking up to him with his hand on his chest, a tattered scarf flopping about his neck.

Ormi stared, then shot his head up the other end of the road, then back to Logos, then back up the road again. His head loped back and forth for at least thirty seconds, great cheeks wobbling with the movement and a very bemused expression painted on his face. Why had Logos come up the west side of the road? The Menkaura household was in the east.

"Ah no, don't tell me Is been going in the wrong direction." He groused.

Logos ignored him.

"Thank Yevon I finally found you, I went all the way back to the dorms but your room was already empty."

"Yeah Is got really decisive with my stuff, was done by midday, thought Is come early and surprise ya and your family." He still had yet to stop staring at the exhausted Logos in front of him though, "But yous here…why? Is mean, whats going on?"

Logos looked up at Ormi with a sort of vacant expression and his breath became shallow.

"Erm, it's…see Ormi it's very complex and urr, we can't go to my house anymore."

"What? Whys not? Something happened? Is everyone ok?"

Logos had to physically bite his tongue at the bitterness; his friend asking about those wretched people's welfare.

"No," he hissed trying to retain a normal tone of speaking, "everyone's not ok. _I'm_ not ok!"

Painted on Ormi's face was that classic look of confusion, one that had always reminded Logos of chocobo who had been presented with a new and unfamiliar form of food. However this was a new breed, it had a slight twinge of fear and concern, so a chocobo who had been presented with a new and unfamiliar form of food of which it suspected was poisoned. This was a very understandable expression though, as now Logos was flapping about and being very fidgety, head flitting around the place and generally looking lost and abandoned.

"H-here, I don't really want to talk in the street. In there."

He pointed a slender finger to an establishment across from them, a drinking establishment. Logos moved away from his companion swiftly and strode towards the dirty and bruised wooden door of the bar.

"Oh no." Ormi always knew a thirsty Logos was a bad sign.

With a slight hesitation and some unwilling, Ormi followed. He entered into air thick with smoke and liquor, warm from the coughs and wheezes of the inhabitants who, he ascertained, were former colleagues of his. He hadn't really considered that some members had really enjoyed their work and didn't have anywhere else to go or any gil to tie them over until Yevon reformed. With a small and sharp inhale he feared that perhaps he and his friend would become part of them.

"Give me drink!" He heard a desperate voice from the bar slur.

"What'd want?"

"W-what doI-? What do I want? Anything! Something that'll melt my brain and disintegrate my liver in the course of half an hour, there you go, liquefy a light bulb for all I fucking care."

Logos slumped morosely onto a stall, his face seemingly giving into gravity; all his features sloping downwards to his chin.

"We've got us some spiced Besaidian sake?"

"Huh, great" was the grumbled response as Logos' head thumped onto the sticky counter.

The somewhat, ironically, disgusted barman shook his head in distaste before eyeing a cautiously approaching Ormi.

"For ya?"

"Oh, ah, I just get an ale."

"Right you are."

Ormi gently placed his case and satchel on the floor, as closed to his selected stool as he could manage. He squeezed himself onto the seat, never taking his eyes of Logos, fearing he may suddenly leap up and attack him. Coated in sludge and grease from the counter top, Ormi noticed Logos's eyes were red and to his inward horror, watery. Ormi found he could do nothing but stare at his friend's void and miserable eyes and become overwhelmed with that awful emotion known as awkwardness, he'd never seen Logos cry, if that was indeed what he was doing or intending to do.

"'Ere ya go."

A heaving pint of ale was plonked onto the counter in front of Ormi, thanking Yevon he now had something to entertain himself with rather than gazing at an incapacitated Logos. He grabbed the glass gladly and took a hefty gulp, smacking his lips appreciatively when he was content to hold the rest of the liquid for another moment. He turned back to his partner to notice he still hadn't moved but sitting before him was a small, sharp shot glass of an almost fizzing, sangria coloured fluid. An arm, from the side Ormi could not see, slithered up the side of the counter and coiled flimsily around the glass, Logos's body unfolded and he was now sitting up straight. Without a blink or a breathe he downed the drink. Watching Logos's throat engulf it, Ormi could feel his own scorching at the alcohol's biting touch but Logos, his expression remained void, his arm coming back down again to sluggishly let the glass go so it rolled along the bar before being stopped by another more bulky tankard.

Logos's gaze was now directed absolutely straight towards the back of the bar, Ormi noted how his eyes were becoming even redder but also his face considerably paler.

"So, err, yous brought us in here to talk."

Enough waiting around in suspense, business clearly needed to be tended to.

"What?" Logos responded, snapping out of his alien state somewhat; his face regaining some colour.

"Wes can't go to your house, why?"

Logos sighed mournfully and for a moment Ormi thought he was going to just return back to the counter top. Ormi took another swig of beer and heartily patted his friend on the back.

"Yous gotta get something off your chest. Come on spill."

Logos rubbed his now throbbing shoulder pitifully.

"I, eh, I told mother I wasn't coming back to Yevon."

"What? Was she mad? Yous can't let a little argument stop you from going home."

"It wasn't a little argument Ormi! It was a disaster!"

"Shhh!" Ormi spluttered through his drink, noticing a bunch of ruffians staring daggers at them.

Logos sat back again, he couldn't be bothered with another confrontation.

"Well you knew she'd be upset, why did yous tell her if you knew she'd react like that?"

"Because she's my mother, Ormi, she deserves to know, just because you didn't tell your grandparents about all your woes and decisions doesn't mean I shouldn't."

"Hey, yous don't bring my grandma and pop into this. Theys in the farplane now; have some respect."

The pair fell silent for a moment as Ormi once again consumed his beverage and Logos's stare returned to the bar back.

"She doesn't want to see me again, Ormi."

"Hmm?" Ormi mumbled into his pint.

"Never, she never wants me to grace her vision ever again. She hates me."

At this point Logos made a very loud, alarming sniff and put a weak fist to his forehead.

"Ah gee buddy."

The awkward feeling left Ormi and was replaced with a feeling of utmost sympathy. Though, he found the situation difficult to understand, at a young age his own parents had died so it was not by his, nor their choice he didn't spend time with them. But although he found his grandparents, his carers, strict and somewhat forceful he was aware that he loved them and they him. The concept of being turned away by someone who once loved you so, just by one tiny little action was almost unreal to him. Secretly though he felt it showed a lot about Opal Menkaura's character and priorities, she was clearly fickle yet unable to understand anything but a higher power.

All the same, he had to check round for a moment, just to make sure their discussion was going unnoticed; the rouges were no longer staring.

He clasped Logos's left shoulder with one of his podgy hands.

"What she say?"

"Oh God just, things. Acted like I was possessed or something equally as stupid. She just told me I wasn't accepted anymore basically," he sighed again, "then told me to get out of the house." He took another rattled breath. "I can't ever go back."

"Is sorry, Logos, I really is."

It became quiet again. The sound of tankards clunking and glasses chinking echoed throughout the bar, riley but merry exerts boomed and bounced off walls, jives and leers hissed and simmered underneath. From the pair at the bar though, no sound could be heard.

Ormi drained the last of his drink and eyeballed it's emptiness with great thought.

"Not to sound uncaring," he began, "but whats ours plan of action now?"

"Drink til I shit my own liver, how's that?"

Ormi chuckled heartily for a moment; Logos could just muster a feeble grin.

"But seriously, what wes going to do?"

"I-I guess we continue as plan."

Logos turned to Ormi and then his eyes floated down to his bag.

"We're just going to have to make more of a sacrifice, travel a bit lighter that's all."

Ormi's eyes followed his friend's, a sense of squirming worry and unease.

"But Logos what if wes don't find anywhere that'll take us? And where wes going to live?"

"Some sphere hunting locations have dorms."

"Not many, yous weren't the only one who researched these places by the way."

"Well we'll figure it out when we get there. Yevon I need another drink."

"No."

Logos, completely stunned, turned to see a sullen and stern looking Ormi.

"Wes aren't gonna sit around in some dirty bar all day getting pissed. That's what cowards do." He slammed his mighty fist down upon the wooden counter, 'Wes gonna get on with this, wes said we was going to change our lives cos wes were so sick of the way things were. So lets do it."

With that his fist swung down and hooked about his suitcase, the stool was shoved back and the wide man marched towards the tavern door.

Logos didn't move, he just gawked at the swinging wooden door (shocking as it was so heavy), a hand half raised to call attention to the barman.

"Another sake?" A crisp voice rasped.

"Huh? Oh, oh no, eh forget it. Ormi!"

Ignoring the utterly bemused barman and sniggering patrons Logos rushed out of the door to find his comrade.

"Ormi!"

"Is over here!"

Ormi was down the west side of the street by a large rubbish dumpster. To Logos' utmost horror Ormi was throwing the contents of his suitcase into it. He ripped one or two items out and crammed them in his satchel but the majority went in with the broken bottles, old waste paper, rotting food and alcohol induced vomit! Finally the actually suitcase itself was loped in.

"Those were of the past, this is for the future!" Ormi roared as the suitcase hit the carcass of material life.

Ormi flung his satchel over his shoulder merrily and plodded towards Logos who was still lost for all words.

"Well come on then," the fat man beamed, "which one of these sphere places wes gonna see first?"

______________________________________________________

The couple left the foul drill of rain behind, stepping through a liquid curtain of bombarding grime and on to the undeniably beautiful marble disc that welcomed them with echoes. The entrance to Guadosalam. It felt more chilled here surprisingly, perhaps the cold breath from the mouth of the hamlet before them.

One final chance, both prayed for the best because after this there were very few options. Ormi and Logos had already thoroughly investigated other institutions of sphere marauders and what not, I mean this 'Leblanc Syndicate' was certainly not their first choice; there had been many mixed reviews. Also, as if job interviews are not frustrating enough, they had had to beg and plead for free rides everywhere since both had found themselves kicked out without a gil to their name. Logos had found Ormi amazingly selfless in these situations, often trading old family heirlooms created from rich materials in order for them to be allowed passage onto a hover or boat etc. Logos knew that these were sacrifices bravely made and he would have to make it up to Ormi sometime…but not right now.

The first excursion was not too bad at all, in fact it was simply to the most Northern point of Bevelle, teetering on the edge of the Calm Lands. Based here was an organisation known as Farglass that had gain increasingly good response over the past few months and seemed wonderfully cheery on first meeting. In Logos' mind a little too cheery. It was in a small quaint interview with one of the main hunters, cup of hot tea in all person's hands, Logos and Ormi realised that there was a considerable amount of brain-washing involved! It became terrifyingly apparent that the group searched for spheres that, oh what was it again,

'Spheres to validate and inspire the existents of the great deity Kumo-Ne-Rah, and all her fourteen children, to all who walk the land of Spira; his land, brought to nativity through his buxom and strong mistress Jumarta, the shoopuff of the sea!'

Needless to say there was much frantic nodding and gulping of tea (scorching of throats) and 'We'll get back to you's from Ormi and Logos's side of the desk.

The next trip had cost Ormi a beautiful (but relatively humble in terms of wealth) pair of pearl cufflinks owned by his grandfather and given to him as gift on his seventeenth birthday. Logos had felt an extreme pang of guilt when it turned out to be a wasted journey though. A ship to Bikanel Island to meet with the persons in charge of Bikan Connection, the racist lumps of gob shite wouldn't even allow them an interview! Said that Bikan Connection was only open to Al Bheds, fair enough their kind had been treated cruelly by the Yevonites but wasn't this just antagonising!

Finally another exhausting and frustrating ship ride later and exchanging of a bronze watch inscribed with the family name of Hassun, the two found themselves in Luca. It was here the sphere hunting group Windowsin was based. The pair had entered through great screen doors and told by a prim and rather attractive young receptionist to take a seat. Here they waited and waited and waited until finally a round and stern old man with a thick bristly beard escorted them up a cold steel staircase to a cramped and dour room which held two interactive monitors, back to back, with an uninviting chair before each one. The man did not breathe a word, just simply left locking the door behind him. Seating themselves awkwardly the pair found it to be a test, this was confirmed by the soft whir of a spying camera on the back wall and a tannoy speaker barking,

"NO TALKING!"

Unsurprisingly, the results were presented to them in the waiting room an hour later, a nice fat 'FAIL' stamp across their print outs. Logos was peeved to find he was only a few marks away from the pass mark, though it honestly didn't change anything as Ormi had been way off and since the pair had agreed to join together it would not have been suitable.

So they left, expressions grim as they ruffled through the article describing their last contender. It was a diminutive, basic article from the 'Bevelle Prophet' (the weekly newspaper given out among the Yevonites), with absolutely no discerning details, oh, save for the huge heart stamped across the text in such an alarming shade that the writing was difficult to read. They had always known it to be Plan D, hoping, praying they would never have to look upon it's nefariousness ever again to find it's address. The sheer ugliness and unsavoury flavour of it's words and style was a pointless discussion however as now they had no choice.

"Give it here." Logos said gloomily, snatching it out of Ormi's pudgy hand the moment he'd extracted it from his satchel.

"Hey Is was doing it, Logos."

"You can't read." Came the bored sigh of a response.

There was no reply, both appeared to have made a mental agreement; we're too disheartened to fight so let's just not.

"10 Lower Concourse," droned Logos, "Guadosalam, Midland, Spira."

______________________________

"10 Lower Concourse, Guadosalam, Midland, Spira"

"I know the address, Ormi."

"Kay, Is just thought Is make sure."

Logos stared up at the twisted and gracefully gnarled vines that lined the opening. It looked, like Guado hair.

"Why would any sphere hunter organisation base themselves somewhere so ominous?" Logos breathed, "It's makes their goals somewhat, questionable if you ask me."

"Yeah, if theys turn out to be a batty group of Guados Is running a mile."

"They won't be Guados, Ormi, they're all in Malcania now, waiting for death. Good bloody riddance."

The tall main walked ahead, stumbling a bit as he began the steep descent. His companion followed.

"But that doesn't mean they may not share the same ideologies."

A distinct and somewhat intoxicating smell of incense and oils reached them as they entered into the knotted dome. This place was eerily deserted save for some lonely travellers who had decided to begin setting up lodgings. They were all understandably jumpy though, on hearing an unfamiliar rhythm of footsteps they had all readied themselves for attack or flight, one man had even drawn a bow and arrow! But this soon subsided when they saw the tatty and clearly unarmed pair. The only citizens not on edge were a gaggle of dim-witted Hypellos and a strange little man dressed as..some sort of penguin, jabbering aimlessly.

Logos peered off to the side, just passed the crazed man now lowering his weapon and whistling embarrassingly.

"Lower Concourse is this way."

He pointed to a engraved doorway to his right that sloped down all the more.

"Hows yous know that?"

"I had to come here a few times just after I passed my bodyguard assessment. This was back before Guados decided they wanted protection from their own kin and not Yevon's."

After another haphazard pathway further into the earth the duo were greeted, cautiously, by a round bald man. He was clearly the owner of the local sundries shop and plainly shaken by the massive upheaval of his local customers, however considering his need to deal with travellers and new folk everyday he seemed pleasantly more brave than the other denizens.

"Can I bein 'elpen you two gentlemen?" He said gruffly.

Logos's head swivelled about, examining the half-stocked shop.

"Erm yes, how does one now get to the Lower Concourse."

"Heh," the shopkeeper chuckled nervously, "and why art yous en wantin' to go dere? Dats very muchin Guado realm now, she be."

"We are trying to get to a particular address which happens to be down there."

Logos also had half a mind to tell the man to stop talking in such an annoyingly thick accent, clearly an Al Bhed who had learnt Spiran the wrong way. But he bit his tongue this time.

"Pfft, dere ain't nobody bein down dat way. Only Guados 'omes. We hasin lock it all off, so dark und didgy like, sorta in bein dangerous."

He eyed them for a minute jestingly.

"But I bein guessing you can go on. Take a see, per'apsing I in wrong and dere is still somebody down dere."

He toddled to his left where the classic velvet rope hung across the corridor leading to the guest rooms.

"At de otter end of da corridor. You'llin find a door, I ain't bein locking it; no guest have come so no riskin of them creeping down dere."

"Yes, well thank you very much."

They stepped forward, about to cross the invisible border when the shopkeeper flung his arm out in front of them.

"But I isin telling you, I ain't bein seeing any persons in or outta dere, notin since de Guado left."

"Oh! Shut up!"

Logos gripped the keeper's wrist and pulled him close, craning over him.

"I'm not in the mood for these agitations, do you have any idea what I've been through these past few days? Let alone having to put up with some short monkey of man trying a gypsy act on me!"

With that he threw baffled Al Bhed back.

"And learn to speak in a way in which people can comprehend you!"

Logos huffed, aggravated, then stomped down the hallway into the darkness, leaving Ormi to simply smile apologetically and then follow suit.

"Ever been to a library! They have these magical things there called dictionaries!"

The pair were swallowed up in the blackness.

Pebbles of sad, lonely stone scattered in their numbers to the lower floor as Ormi and Logos descended the eroding spiral steps. The air here was crisp and thick, not at all comfortable for living in, though one could guess that this was just an emotional response, a sort of paranoia. It's strange when a place once populated becomes empty, gives a whole new atmosphere and feel of desolation.

The ice cold marble of the lower concourse seeped through their worn shoes, both straining their eyes to see through the dense mist, unpunctuated by any light.

"Logos, Is don't think this is right."

"You'd think this place would have a light or something. It's completely bare down here."

They stood still for a moment, rubbing their goose-pimpled arms and considering whether to continue.

"Wes should go back. Yous heard the guy, this is Guado land. Creeps me out!"

Ormi spun on his heel and attempted to make a break back up the stairs, but it was a foolish idea and he had known so, being with someone trained to have the reaction speeds of a trapdoor spider, escape was surely futile. Logos now had Ormi gripped by the collar and was yanking him (with much effort) down the sleek, cloudy corridor of houses.

Here the houses were all the same, terrace, towering in height despite their location underground and sunken into the walls, almost hiding in shame. It would have probably been that every Guado occupant or family had their own floor in one of these to call their own. Guado were odd they didn't really enjoy spacious living, they would rather be crammed into burrows, like little lice or worms.

Luckily (for Logos's arm) Ormi didn't have to be dragged for too long. Logos peered up at a house not like it's brethren, this house was clearly a house and not a collection of living spaces; it was to be used as one. It had a royal purple door, overgrown with vines and roots, peaking out from within the rotting foliage was a silver plaque displaying the number ten.

Ormi toppled back a bit as Logos released his grip. His partner was taking a few steps back, sneering at the windows on the upper floors.

"There's no one here!" He yelled.

"Is told yous that shopkeeper was right, now lets get outta here."

"Who cares if some lazy Al Bhed was right Ormi, where the Hell are they?"

"Huh?"

"These Leblanc Syndicate people?"

Ormi's eyes drifted up and down the overgrown and forgotten house, expression inquisitive.

"Maybe it's like a secret hideaway, ya know? Yous knock on the door and says a password."

Logos stomped up to the door and pointed a finger demandingly at the leafy plumage embraced about the door.

"What is this all about then?"

"Err well maybe it like moves away when you says the right password."

"How?"

"Umm with a fire spell or something."

"Alright well then how does it grow back like this afterwards?"

"Ahh…." The large man gazed, lost in Logos's annoyed leer. "Oh Is don't know! Was worth a thought though!"

"So we've come all this way, all this way," Logos groused as he trudged down the steps from the house, "for nothing."

They looked up, sad and defeated at the mossy corpse of a building. Too tired and disappointed to even begin to think what their next plan of action was.

"Nothing." Ormi echoed.

Logos suddenly shrunk by two and a half feet. He was now squatting on the floor, staring at the broken stone beneath his feet, hand on chin, deep in thought.

"What in the name of Yevon are we going to do now?"

"Lets, lets just get outta here first, then think."

"Well maybe we could get a job at a travel agents, or driving hovers, but no no that's all Al Bhed work, they won't hire ex-Yevonites, maybe a retail job in Luca but oh God that's so demeaning, maybe, maybe-"

"Logos."

Ormi's hand gently knocked the back of his companion's head. The tall man looked upwards.

"Lets go, then think."

With that he walked away, towards the spiral staircase they had descended earlier and, without a word, Logos followed.


	3. Chapter 3

Told you I was still writing this. This was very disjointed and written over a long period of time. With that in mind, some of it as not as well written as I'd like..and some 'jokes' aren't that funny haha. Will try and get the next chapter up sooner rather than later. =)

* * *

The Al Bhed's ears pricked at the sound of a door swinging shut.

"Hmm" He pondered, "Oh dos two young gentlemen, they ins be back now."

As if he'd call for the Devil himself, the pair, the tall one and the wide one, came trudging through the red roped barrier and into the shop. The shopkeeper eyed them cockily, smirking a little as he shoved a few more items into a display shelf.

"Didn't Is 'en tell ya, there weren'tin nobody down dere?"

They looked at him, tired and aggravated. The taller of the two shook his head and his mouth began to form the shape of some insult but all that managed to escape was an irritated grumble.

"What were's youin two looking for any a way?"

"This."

Ormi tossed the article cutting on the counter so the keeper could examine it.

"Ormi, don't he'll just-ugh!"

It was all just requiring too much effort now.

"Letin' me be seeing. 10 Lower Concourse, Guadosalam…aaaaah no be needing to see the address."

The traveling duo perked curiously.

"The biggun 'eart gives it away, youin' be looking for that Leblanc Syndicate!"

"Yeah," Ormi droned, while Logos tutted and went off to inspect the dust on a near by table.

"Youin' two being homeless then eh? Nowhere's else to bein' going?"

"Y-yeah, that's right…how did yous know?"

Ormi edged closer, seating himself gently on one of the stools circled about the counter.

"Oh everyone at the Leblanc Syndicate was bein' homeless."

Logos guffawed haughtily.

"Ha, so they were all a bunch of failures, we would have fitted right in."

He flicked a potion off the table, fortunately it did not break but it did roll under a set of shelves; a position where it was now unobtainable.

The shopkeeper, did not seem to care one bit, in fact, he was simpering.

"Ahaaahaha!" He snorted, "Yous two are a mess!"

"Hey!" Logos snapped.

"Yousin' still thinking they were down dere? Haha! Theys moved!"

"Where?"

Logos had shot across the room in less than a blink and now the pair were buckled over the counter, eye's pleading towards the Al Bhed.

"Ho ho, I was tellin' ya that down dere was Guado land," the green-eyed man chuckled, "Now theys bein' gone, it be tinkin' unsacred and disrespectin' to bein' living down dat way. So when the Guado, theyin' left, so did bein' everyone else."

"Look!" Logos boomed, pummeling his fists down on the counter, "Enough of your story telling, you good for nothing desert muck, where is the Syndicate?"

"No need to bein' rude dere, my man, remembering who got da information 'ere. Per'apsing Is be tinkin' I don't want to tell ya now."

Suddenly the Al Bhed's breath was noosed as his collar was yanked a foot higher then it's normal position, the same could be said for his feet.

"I'm only asking you one last time," Logos growled, a fist readied for fire, "where is this new Leblanc Syndicate."

"Logos, put the guy down, he's just trying to get to you." Ormi said half-heartily.

"Oh he's got to me alright!"

"If you get the guy all riled he'll never tell us."

"Listen, listen." The duo turned curiously to the shopkeeper. "Don't be 'urtin' me, I didn't bein' meaning anything by it. Put me down, please, and I'llin' tell ya."

Logos glared, and then cautiously lowered the begging man.

"Ok, ok," he rubbed his neck nervously, "yes, theyin' move. They moved 'ere in fact, to the middle concourse, so you don't 'avein' to travel."

He smiled at them gingerly, but was only met by bored expressions.

"Da Leblanc Syndicate, theyin' now be located in da Mansion."

"The mansion?" The pair echoed, looking between each other and the shopkeeper inquisitively.

"You know, DA Mansion…Seymour, 'is mansion!"

The Al Bhed could do naught but sigh, defeated, as he was only met by shocked, confused and somewhat angry gazes. They didn't believe him, and now he was going to be beaten to a pulp because of that.

"S-Seymour's mansion?" Logos gaped, "You had us sitting here, wasting, what? Five minutes of our lives so that you could concoct some twisted fantasy end for your story!"

The stool fell back and Logos lunged but before the Al Bhed could even cry out in fear, Ormi interject.

"Hang on Logos, whys wouldn't it be possible. I mean, Seymour's not using it anymore."

"Oh don't be ridiculous Ormi, who in their right mind would buy up that creepy, macabre, cult hording shack so soon?"

"Madame Leblanc would," whimpered the shopkeeper.

"Yeah," Ormi agreed, pointing at the response.

"I do hope your being facetious Ormi, I really am." Logos chaffed, "I do hope you are not telling me the woman we plan to work for is really that harebrained."

"It's true though!" The shopkeeper perked, "You go have a see, she und 'er sphere'unters be working there now. If theyin' not there, for some bizarre reason or otter, dat I bein' not knowing about, then you two are more than welcome to come back 'ere and bein' beating the shit outta me. Yes?"

Logos's half clenched fists were pulsing, uncertain, meanwhile Ormi slid the article towards himself and glanced at it thoughtfully.

"Here's an idea. How about I beat the shit out of your scraggly, sand-coated body now and then perhaps, if I have the time and if I feel like being absolutely crushed with woe and defeat, I'll go take a glance at this mansion. Yes?"

"C'mon Logos, yous can hold off your anger five minutes. Lets go check it out and if the Al Bhed's lying, kicking his ass will be more satisfying!"

Ormi's jive had seemed strangely far away, and this made sense, as when Logos turned his head to the stool it did not hold the girth of his companion, only a deep imprint of him.

"Ormi?"

The bulky man was trotting briskly up the slope again towards the middle concourse.

"I'll be back for you, you, you" there must be another racial slur, surely, "machina groper, you!"

Logos spun on his heel and gave chase to his cohort.

"Ormi this is a waste of time."

"Is just wanna see."

"Even if this group is there, do we really want to go into…you know…THAT house. What if they're a bunch of Seymour worshipping nut cases?"

"Hm! Better then worshipping a shoopuff." Ormi grunted.

He waddled up the low incline towards the eerily elegant porch of the house that had once held the centre of Guado, the core of Sin. He was stunned, the claws of shrub and bark that once strangled the structure had been pruned back and now colour, rich purple, spilled through. It was brighter and much less suffocated.

"Whoa."

"Whoa what? My goodness!"

Logos' expression now mirrored Ormi's; equally as amazed at the transformation.

"That's…I mean that's just incredible."

"It doesn't look a thing like it used to."

Ormi took a merry step towards the engraved door of the manor.

"Ah ah ah! Wait, just wait." Logos spluttered, grabbing the large man's chunky shoulder. "Let's not forget looks can be deceiving. A gardener may have paid a visit and it may have had a new coat of paint but it's still Seymour's old mansion and someone, suspiciously eager, bought it. We should be cautious; who knows what we'll find inside."

"Oh Logos yous just being paranoid." The round man interjected.

However his view cautiously turned to the mansion.

"Let's just sees what we find hmm? We's ain't got much choice regardless."

Logos gave a reluctant but agreeing nod and with that they both began shifting warily towards the grand, engraved door.

"Yous knock."

"What! You knock, you're the one who actually wants to investigate this ominous shack!"

Ormi bit his lip and making sure he was an arm's length away from the door, a foot well placed behind him ready for escape, knocked gingerly on the hard wood.

Without a breath the pair reeled back, almost expecting a gross apparition to lunge out. But nothing.

"No response." Ormi whispered.

"Yes, I gathered that, Ormi."

Logos craned forward and rapped again sharply. Once again they were simply left glaring glumly at the door.

"That lying Al-Bhed arsehole! There's no one here!"

Ormi did nought but to look down to the dirt sadly.

"Uaagh! When I get my hands round his scrawny neck I'll-!"

"Sssh Logos, shut up."

Ormi's ears perked, from inside he could hear movement, boots on hard floor shuffling about hurriedly and a somewhat flustered chatter of voices.

He began to lean into the door, face strained hard trying to hear exactly what was being said. For a moment Logos seemed irate and disinterested but within seconds he too was inclined towards the wood with a similarly concentrated expression.

There was more muttering and tattling and then,

"Phew! Hello there!"

"AAHHH!"

The decorated door had flung open with such a vicious force that, if it weren't for their prep-for-flight statures, Ormi and Logos would have toppled into the form of the tiny Al-Bhed girl.

"Aoh!" She squawked in response.

Panting slightly Logos brushed off his slacks and re-arranged his father's scarf before eyeing the welcome party. She was absolutely miniscule in size, Logos towered over her considerably, with messy and wind-swept blond hair and those twinkling, spirally green eyes all her kind possessed gazed up at him excitedly.

"Oooo wow you're huge!" She chirped.

"Oh not another Al-Bhed!"

The 'huge' man's arms folded, his face oozing haughtiness and disgruntlement.

"Ooh" The girl's expression matched that of an injured chocobo.

"Logos! Geez."

A speck of spit hit the ground harshly in reaction to the large man's scold.

"Ah, sorry about him, we's had a few bad run ins with Al-Bhed these past few days."

The girl turned to Ormi brightly, as if no insult was spoken at all.

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that, how so?"

While her attention was aimed elsewhere, Logos found his eyes wandering back towards the door and settling back upon the girl, though quite a way south of her face.

"Well, lets put it this ways, do yous guys only except Al-Bhed?"

She stared blankly for a moment before giggling elfishly.

"Haha, oh no silly, we're free for all!"

"Oh I bet you are." Came a snide snicker from Logos's direction.

"We don't believe in all that picking teams or singling out schtick," the girl continued, "if someone comes a knockin' we recruit 'em."

"So there's no tests or nothing." Ormi interjected.

"Nope."

"And you don't worship any idiosyncratic deity who has a fancy for live stock?" Logos asked unfolding his lanky arms and bending down towards the Al-Bhed.

"No ? "

She giggled a bit before returning to the same simple yet quizzical expression. The ragged men before her were looking at each other with faces somewhat awestruck.

"Nothing, nil, nada, not a zip." She gripped the doorframe and sort of hung herself forwards, "You guys wanna come in?"

The pair paused, after the past few days it was absolutely unreal that anything good should actually happen to them and to tell the truth they were not entirely sure they should trust that this was reality and not hallucinations brought on by sleep deprivation.

"Y-yeah" Ormi finally beamed.

The girl released her hand on one side and, like a monkey, swung into the elaborate reception area, gingerly the duo followed. Here they were, in the mansion of that late tyrannical dictator Seymour Guado. Throughout their time with Yevon and the events that had unfolded in the last few months Logos and Ormi had taken to a position of assuming Guado land was dark, morbid and full of ominous mystery, cryptic stories one wasn't sure whether they would want to unveil or not. Life here was presumed to be pessimistic and sinister and all forms of life that gathered under that name were woeful and looking for escape. With this in mind it was no surprise at the deep bemusement spreading over the ex-Yevonites faces.

This room was, nice. Logos tried to recall the last time he was in Guadosalam and what it felt and looked like, he had never actually been inside the old Maesters home but peering around he wasn't sure that anything physical had actually been changed. The knotted wood still wrapped thick like a snake about the banisters, the floor still layered in patterned tiles of purples and greens, it had been spruced up a bit, it had been trimmed and polished but the faces of old Maesters still hung on the walls for crying out loud. However the place felt different, it smelled different too oddly, a sort of perfume radiated throughout and he wasn't sure if it was that or some other force but everything was relaxed and almost disturbingly cheery here.

"Hey you guys!"

The pair tore their eyes away from the upholstery and back to the little Al Bhed.

"Come on, in here."

She opened a door to their right and in an instant that smell of perfume disappeared and another smell that nearly brought tears to the companions eyes replaced it. The smell of food. In all the commotion that had thundered down on them in the last few days the concept of eating had been almost foreign to them, mostly because finding anything to eat was more than a little challenging. All the money they had, had to go towards travel and for that their wealth had been overstretched, it hadn't really mattered though, they hadn't felt like eating until this moment when they were reminded of how nice the feel of a full belly was.

Riding the delicate aroma of, what they thought and hoped, was rich beef, steamed fish, boiled potato, ramen and a mixture of fresh fried vegetables, they entered after the Al-Bhed girl. Unfortunately other than a colourful array of fruit, there was no food present however the scent seemed to be emanating from a door towards the back which one would assume was the kitchen.

"If you fellas wait here I'll go get the Boss, she'll have a chat with ya and get you sorted in no time."

The young girl gestured towards the sofas lining the corners of the impressive room.

"You guys wanna take a seat?" she beamed "the Boss shouldn't be too long, smells like dinner will be ready soon anyway."

Giving a hungry nod of approval, the pair positioned themselves on the couches and the Al-Bhed trotted off.

Ormi glanced round the room, admiring the rich colours and elegant carvings, the lavish furniture and sparkling polished surfaces.

"So did all this stuff use to belong to Seymour?" He questioned, treading his feet further into the soft, lush carpet.

"Huh, I have no idea, I hope not." Logos paused, "But I'm worried that perhaps this is his inventory, though I must say I never saw Seymour being found of that particular shade."

He pointed a long sharp finger at a vase of roses on the table, they were of an unnaturally garish fuchsia.

"Haha yeah seems a bit girly for zombie to have laying about."

"Though with a hair do like that it makes you wonder how influential that feminine side was."

The pair chuckled.

"I wonder what this woman's like." Logos pondered, arising to further inspect the roses, "You know I have this weird pain in the bottom of my chest right now."

Ormi cocked his head.

"Oh?"

"It actually hurts to think I may work under a woman."

"Ah c'mon Logos, broads aren't all bad. What about Shelinda, hm? She was in charge of the Yevonites for a little while!"

"Yes and she snapped and had a breakdown after, what? A week? Hardly a good example Ormi."

"Well, ha, what about Ishra? Yous seemed to have no trouble working under hers every now and again. Ya know what I mean?"

Logos's eyes snapped to Ormi with a piercing stare.

"Don't! Don't mention her!"

They fell silent for a few minutes. Logos padding up and down the long hall, much like a panther in a cage, while Ormi twiddled his thumbs, both waiting impatiently for 'The Boss' to arrive.

"By Yevon has this woman no concept of time?" Logos finally breathed, trying to peer into the window in the kitchen door but to no avail.

"What if she's preparing some test for us or something?"

"Oh please even if she is, did you see what greeted us at the door? We'll have no qualms about passing."

"Why would she take this long though? Argh I bet she's getting questions ready for an interview."

"So?" Logos muttered, still trying to catch a glimpse through the window.

"Well what if we's says something we's shouldn't?"

Logos turned to Ormi, expression bemused.

"You seem awfully uptight for someone who earlier was so calm. Is everything alright?"

The large man rung his hands a few times, he made a motion as to get up, stopped and retreated but then did decide to stand.

"What if she, what if she finds out?"

Logos's expression became even more puzzled.

"Find what out? W-What on Earth are you talking about you dolt?"

"About Mi'ihen!" Ormi hissed. "Abouts all those people we killed and those we's was supposed to kill."

The expression on the lanky man's face turned from confused to serious. He shook his head apathetically in response to his companion's dismayed state.

"Ormi, we were not personally responsible for anyone's death that day, we were just following orders. Besides how in Spira is she supposed to know anything about Mi'ihen."

Sadly this response appeared to have given Ormi no sense of comfort as he bit his lip and his eyes darted wildly about the room.

"Think about it's Logos, Seymour, the bastard who tried to destroy Spira, drops dead and the second he hits the farplane this gal moves in, she's clearly high up!"

Logos could do nothing but stare at his partner in a simple dumbfound manner. What in the world was wrong with Ormi? Finally a clear opportunity for work, food and shelter and he doesn't want trust it? Disbelief is one thing but this, this was ridiculous. Perhaps in those few moments silence he had got bored and decided to actually use his brain for once; this is more thinking than he'd ever done in his entire life. But he had had the entire journey here to think, they had barely said a word to one another, he chooses now to take his turn to be paranoid?

"Ormi, listen-"

"Yous said yourself, what if they's Seymour worshippers?"

"Whoa, goodness, Ormi I think you're twisting my words a bit there-"

"What if she's a Guado?"

Logos had to fight the urge to bust a gut with laughter.

"Ormi... Ormi, Ormi, Ormi, how can she be a Guado? Their not here anymore, none of them would be seen dead here... well in fact they might but that's the very reason they left. They've all quite rightly fucked off to the Malcania Forest because their corpses would get in the way here. Besides why would a Guado have an Al-Bhed working for them like that, Guado hate the Al-Bhed."

"Well ok, maybe she's not Guado but she's got this house, she must have been afflicted with Seymour in some way!"

"What in Yevon's rotted, bastardized name are you going on about, man?"

Both parties, mouths gapped ready to continue, were rudely interrupted in their debate by a low, loud grumbling noise which was unmistakeably that or Ormi's gut. They stared downwards curiously. That desperate growl came again.

"Ha, I think, Ormi, that the blood in your body has rushed to lull your empty stomach and is not given your brain the, clearly, much needed attention it requires."

The round man placed a brawny hand on his belly.

"I ams pretty hungry." He gazed off to the kitchen door, "But I's still really freaking out about this woman."

As if on cue, a door could be heard on the upper floor, and the tap of heals on stone could be heard descending at a brisk rhythm.

"That must be her." Logos hissed.

"Quick, we's can't be all up in our faces when she walks in, i-it's a bad impression, act natural."

"Quite right, we should seem confident and professional, this is our last chance."

With that, the pair formed faux and, Logos at least had to admit, horribly cliché poses of that of the busy body. Ormi turning an apple aberrantly in his palm and Logos picking the linings of the room's mirrors with his index finger, making it seem his was appreciating the craftsmanship.

The unambiguous clip clop of boots was approaching, more and more worryingly authoritative and dominating with every beat. A deep click from the handle, the companion's eyes shot nervous, sideways glances to the door.

"You know it could be just that Al-Bhed girl coming back." Logos gulped.

Ormi craned his neck towards Logos, expression quite dumbfounded.

"Are yous nuts? Al-Bhed girl? With attitude like that? Logos, I's never said this to yous before but..shut the fuck up."

By Yevon, he must be starving, Logos thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: And she is done! Sorry this took so long to finish and I also apologise that it's not really that good. This fanfic sadly got slower and slower as I wrote it, I probably should have planned it better but aaaaah well. Enjoy guys even if it is a bit wordy.**

* * *

Eyes staring at the bronze handle, heart's pumping, sweat trickling, breath noosing.

'a mix between a jester, the Queen of Hearts and a hooker,' Ormi repeated in his head; the words that Logos had used to describe her a few months earlier. What kind of bizarre and awful atrocity was about to enter.

The beat of heels stopped, and the door handle began to turn downwards, slow but firm, bowing to the 'Boss'.

Light slipped in from the reception area into the hall, Ormi and Logos's plan of acting natural had been abandoned and now the pair stood motionless and tense, eyes still fixed unwavering on the door.

Their hearts shuddered in a fleeting burst of panic as one of those bright pink (just like the roses) heels stepped purposely into the room, followed by the woman herself.

The partners grimaced a little, twitching to cover their faces but then the abhorrence just seemed to spill out of them and all over the carpet.

This 'broad' as Ormi would put it was actually, nice looking. Granted her choice of fashion was atrocious but the lady behind the fabrics was soft and, dare they say it, beautiful. Porcelain skin covered her body, so bright and unspoiled in it's colour it was almost transparent and the form it wrapped about was petite and lilliputian however muscular and taught. If you saw her from behind you would more than likely wonder how the companions had even been able to pick up on this detail but from the front there was no question. Perhaps the 'Boss' did have a slight sense of pride about herself, the front of her elaborate dress hung open poignantly, exhibiting a toned and trimmed stomach and the cleavage of her impressive and powerful bosom, a tattoo of the same heart from the article, branded above them. Although the anxiety had evaporated out of his being, Logos still felt the need to wipe his moist brow with an awkward fist.

He tore his gaze away from there, worried of it's distraction and finally looked to her face. Round and delicate, complimented with soft, lush locks of brilliant blonde hair. Her lips were set small but were full and blushed, pouted very gently. Nose tiny and mouse-like; turned upwards with sweet curiosity. And her eyes, her eyes were positively mesmerising, rippling with their deep, rich chocolate brown colour, sparkling with inquisitive and innocence. He had, an unfamiliar and somewhat unwelcome bout of deja vu, he pondered, concentrating harder, being drunk in more by those eyes. No, a haughtiness behind their sparkle, the odd feeling of recognition floated away.

"Hello loves." The pair started at the sudden sound of speech rising from her throat, "Welcome to the Chateu."

For a moment, they were skeptical before Logos stepped forward.

"It's most certainly a charming and gracious pleasure miss...miss?"

"Leblanc, love." Logos was surprised at the secure grip of her handshake, "just Leblanc. And your names?"

"Oh, how rude of me," he attempted to somehow smarten his father's shabby scarf about his neck, "my name is Logos Azriel Menkaura and this here is-"

"Er, Ormi Hassun, ma'am."

For a moment nothing was said. Those eyes of hers just scanned them thoughtfully, judging. Logos stole a sideways glance at Ormi, he was still sweating and seemed criminally tetchy, still ringing his fists and smacking his lips. His view returned to this Leblanc, she continued to eye them up and down, then her face softened, breaking into a welcoming smile.

"Please," she soothed, "sit."

She sauntered around them, and began to arrange herself on one of the couches and although their was a moment of ginger peaking traded between the ex-Yevonites, they did as she requested, taking a spot on the opposite couch, sitting straight and obedient, though a little awkward, towards her.

Leblanc lounged back comfortably against the soft suede.

"So, tell me about yourselves."

The friends did naught but gawk at each other baffled. What in Spira were they supposed to say? Damn it all, with all this discussion of not giving themselves away, now their minds couldn't think of anything else. Good God they could barely remember yesterday! That sweat was coming back again.

She eyed them curiously.

"Well, you're both looking quite dishevelled, you," she motioned to Ormi, "with clearly beautiful new trousers smothered in mud and you with a ripped and tattered scarf."

The pair looked down at the acknowledged garments.

"Come on now, you must have some story to tell."

She was now leaning forward, knees together and forearms resting upon them, her dainty fingers interlocking and chin settled on the back of her hands. This pose was clearly one expressing interest however it also expressed an unbelievably captivating view of her assets.

Logos swallowed hard, trying to relieve his dry mouth. His eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of Ormi. Of all people Ormi was someone who actually held women's respect very highly, which Logos admitted surprised him quite a bit, and was a great supporter of gentlemanly behaviour. But to Logos's astonishment even he was lost in the vision, and even more terrifying, it was painted all over his face! Logos felt a surge of panic and a great pressure to say something fast.

"Um, well." He cleared his throat. "We have come from Bevelle, which is the city where we were both born and raised and, where we have lived for the past," he paused and turned to Ormi, brow furrowed with consideration, "er, well the entirety of our twenty-one years."

That pang of homesickness rumbled in his chest again.

"We have been Yevonites for a number of years and, as I'm sure you are aware, Yevon's armies have made the conscious decision and proclamation to disband and reform. Myself and Ormi here, due to reasons concerning the ethos of the old Yevon, chose not to be reinstated and instead decided to look for new occupation in this time of calm. We, er, have also found ourselves without residence because, hmm, well, appertaining to our status and, uh, well frankly regards to a somewhat difficult and personal instances-"

She waved her hand briefly.

"Don't worry love," she spoke softly. "You don't have to explain anything of that nature to me."

The sweat evaporated from their foreheads and any debris of apprehension still hugging the air suddenly vanished in a few fleeting seconds.

"What matters is that you two are clearly tired, and hungry, and have nowhere to stay."

She stood up and padded about the couch, rubbing behind one of her ears, deep in thought.

"Yes, yes that's quite right ma'am." Logos breathed.

"I must ask," she deferred, "being in Yevon, I am to presume you can use firearms effectively yes?"

"Oh yes, yes but we're not constricted by that by any means." Logos spoke cockily.

Leblanc raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? How so?"

"Well actually, ma'am," Ormi interjected, "we's had training to be bodyguards."

Her eyes suddenly lit up with revelation.

"Really?"

"Indeed," the taller man continued, "and I also was coached in assassin-" oh God wait, careful here man, oh Yevon, abort abort! "Err, other specified, specialist weapons."

"I see." Her eyes were still bright. "Bodyguards, eh? Hmm you know boys," ('Boys'? She was hardly hitting her twenties herself!), "you may just be exactly what I am looking for."

She walked back behind her couch. The pair in front of her eyeing her inquisitively. Logos leaned forward.

"If you could explain, ma'am?"

She placed her hands on the couch back, letting her knees buckle a little and shoulders hunch up to her ears. She gave them a knowing and slightly cheeky look which made the two men crane forward as if they were stretching to hear a dirty secret.

"My business is rapidly growing, with this whole Sin dying, Spira has moved into a new age. There have been great changes, loves. Like you two, many people have found themselves with nowhere to go; I've had a huge influx of Yevonites come to me in the past month or so, and even more Al-Bhed..bless them, they were completely helpless."

Logos snorted a little.

"Because of this, I'm feeling like I need to spread the authority of the group a bit wider, unfortunately there is only one of me, heh." She chuckled a little. "But I've had a hard time finding anyone I feel is qualified enough, that's the problem you see when you take in all walks of life. Then again, taking in all walks of life can have it's advantages, how would I have met you two otherwise?"

She rounded the couch slightly, so she could seat herself on the arm.

"Loves, most of the Yevonites that have come to me have only been simple soldiers of the most basic training. And, with no disrespect to their race, I don't wish to give too much responsibilities to the Al-Bheds, I'm sure you'll understand, they have a tendency to be hmm absent-minded, but they make amazing engineers. No I need advanced and reliable assistants and if I may say, a pair of bodyguards and a weapons expert are definitely extremely valuable persons to have immediately to hand."

"Excuse me, but what are you proposing?"

Despite her lengthy explanation Logos was still unsure about what she was communicating, he had an inkling but he did not wish to trust it fully until it had been completely confirmed; there was only so much disappointment he could take in one week.

"I'm proposing, loves, that I award you much more administrative positions."

The pair could feel their cheeks twitch with the want of light smirks of joy and achievement, not only was a job finally in the bag but they may actually benefit significantly more than they had first expected.

"I feel you two would be perfect contenders for aiding me in spreading control, help begin a bit of a hierarchy if you understand."

"So's wes be like your right-hand men?" Ormi piped up.

"Exactly, my sweets!"

They felt the cue of 'gushy eyes' glowing from their faces after that comment.

"Of course," she added, rising from her position, "we will have to see how it all goes. This is the first time I have had to delegate like this while running the Syndicate, it will be something we will all have to get use to and may be a little trial and error for a time."

The comrades nodded understandably.

"For now I will hire you two on the pretext of body guarding status, I could use a reliable pair of strapping young men to help me out when things get messy with the fiends."

'Gushy eyes', oh those blasted 'gushy eyes'.

"Besides with the growth of the Syndicate I have found myself lately with a bit more attention than I may have otherwise liked, and not all positive sadly. Yes, I think that will be fine for the time being, loves, I shall place you with that title and that pay for now. All subject to change however, depends how much you impress me."

With that she winked, and began to saunter over to a cabinet on the other side of the room. She slid open a draw and rifled through the contents before retrieving two sheets of paper and an ink pen. She crossed to the table with the flowers and seated herself primly, beckoning the pair over and indicated two other chairs opposite her. Once again they did as they were told.

She placed the papers definitely on the table and begun to jot down information. Logos and Ormi craned over to see that these papers were in fact a pair of employment contracts.

"Now," she announced, "I will need you two to quickly read through these, loves, then sign at the bottom if you agree."

She ruffled the sheets momentarily then handed one to them to scan, the other she kept and now held upright in her palm.

"I'll give you a quick overview though," she cleared her throat with a gentle cough. "Basically, I, Madame Leblanc, agree to offer you employment at the Syndicate under the title of bodyguards and Sphere hunters. I offer you food and individual shelter, here, in the Chateau."

She coined their bemused expressions.

"I thought it maybe a bit off-putting and perhaps distasteful to call this place a Guado Mansion, you know with all that's happened, I decided to rename it to give it a new identity. So yes I'll set you up with lodgings and, for the time being, I'll place you in the highest band of payment but with all this talk of organisation re-structuring I may need to create a new, even higher band."

She returned the paper to the table and passed it over, before delicately picking up her pen and gesturing it towards them.

"So that will be, hmm let me think, erm, 3,120 gil a week."

The pairs' eyes froze before slowly glazing over the contracts and back up to her.

"S-sorry, 3,120 gil..a week?" Logos asked.

She examined at their shocked expressions, a little confused.

"Yes, love, 3,120 gil a week."

The tall man turned to his partner, a smile creeping across his face.

"Ormi, that's nearly double what we got paid at Yevon!" He whispered.

"I knows!"

They paused.

"Well, fuck reading the damn thing!"

Logos's skinny hand lunged out and snatched up the pen, stamping the paper with his impressive calligraphy skills so fast that Ormi hadn't even registered what had happened until he noticed Leblanc placing the contract to one side with a pleasing pat. Promptly, he scribbled down his own name and handed it over.

At this point the chirpy Al Bhed from before scampered into the room. She sprung over to Leblanc with intent, clearly ready to report something, but was instead met by two pieces of paper fluttering in her face. She gave a surprised chirrup, then smiled and trotted off again, contracts in hand ready for filing, she nodded but said nothing.

"Put them on my desk, love!" Leblanc called out but the door had clicked shut before she had finished.

She signed, sure the girl had not heard her. No matter. Her hands struck the table top firmly and purposely. She rose, chair shifting back obediently.

"Right," she announced, her tone suddenly haughty and authoritative. She stood straight, hands crossed behind her back.

It took a moment but the pair hurriedly took their cue and bumbled up compliantly.

"If you'd like to follow me boys."

She strode out and around the table and straight to the back of the room, a commanding swagger to her step. She began to briskly punch numbers into a small switch panel before pulling a prominent and well shined lever next to it. The peculiar shield-shaped ornament on the back wall suddenly began to rise and open out to reveal a dusky corridor sloping down on the other side. Logos and Ormi peered into the mouth of this bizarre beast gingerly.

"Now boys I hope you understand that I am by no means some uppish dragon but I do run a tight ship here."

She turned to them, eyes fierce and expression stern.

"I expect the upmost respect and loyalty. You shall do as orders dictate and trust my decisions and directions, is that clear?"

The ex-Yevonites stood a bit stunned for a moment then looked at each. This, slightly alarming, change of nature was somewhat disconcerting but none the less this young lady had done them a huge favour, one they would have to work extremely hard to repay. They turned back, bowing a little.

"Yes ma'am."

She eyed them, then nodded and turned away but before continuing she noted,

"And you shall refer to me as Boss."

She stepped through the hollow archway to the Syndicate underbelly.

"Yes Boss." They replied.

The passage sloped downwards, it was by no means steep but it was an abnormally sharp angle for any interior design. The high ceiling, brick layered walls and stone floor caused every step they took to echo, sending light foreboding chills up the two men's spines. The pair marvelled at it's enormity and the mystery of how in Spira this had ever been kept hidden, but then they considered, was this some kind of wild and eccentric extension, requested by the mansion's new occupants, or had it been a wonderful and convenient surprise for them when they moved in. Their very innards turned when they tried to consider what Seymour may have hid away in these man-made catacombs.

"Um," Logos heard Ormi mutter charily, but before he could continue Leblanc's voice came again.

"Usually all my workers sleep in dorms much further to the back." Her voice bouncing off the walls. "But considering the circumstances we now find ourselves in, I guess you two will require something a little different."

Her hand came up and lightly tapped her chin and, after a moment of brief hesitation, she nodded and sauntered on, past a sign, nailed to the wall, on her left that had inscribed an arrow and the word 'Dorms' in both Spiran and Al Bhed, and instead strode forward and heaved open the pair of doors directly in front of the three of them.

A deep and pungent, musky smell began to ooze out, totally replacing the sweet scent of cooking that had been clinging to their nostrils. Peering through a powdery blanket of dust, inside was revealed to be some kind of store room. At first glance one would have grimaced at the flakes of dirt now sprinkling the ground but on the contrary, the room was quite well organised and cared for. The granules of filth had simply drifted off neat piles of newly plucked glittering orbs; the spheres, and the bizarre odour had risen from the crates of bottles most likely full with freshly brewed liquors.

"Of course this room is hardly prepped for tenancy," she began to shuffle a couple of spheres near the doorway, "but near the back you can pull a bed out from the wall."

She scooched about the boxes and bundles to the back and began to rummage about, running her fingers along a few deep ridges in the wall. Logos and Ormi watched inquisitively for a moment as she gave a few sharp yanks but to no avail.

"Ahem, hey, here lets me have a go ma'a-eh Boss."

Ormi's huge bear-like paws hooked into the ridge and with one swift movement the bed opened out, hitting the floor with an almighty crash. In the impact, a pyramid of bottles had toppled and started to roll across the wooden floorboards, revealing underneath a modest pile of what looked like armour and weaponry. Leblanc's momentarily crumpled face soothed as she turned towards it.

"Ooooh interesting," she cooed, "I didn't know that was here. Actually," a dainty hand rubbed her chin, "that makes me think."

She craned a little to see better, eyes scanning over the metallic rubble and beckoning the pair to do the same.

"Pick something." she said simply, waving a hand about it. "Anything."

A slightly bemused but curious, Ormi waddled over and surveyed the mess. Logos was not so sure, finally allowing his face to relax out of it's cringe (ears still thumping from the sound of splintering wood) he cocked his head, trying to read the 'Boss's expression. Eventually folding his arms and deciding instead to see how Ormi's choice may pan out.

"Whys?" Ormi's confusion had finally got the better of him.

Leblanc turned to her new employee, the same sour expression at first, but then breaking into that sweet smile she had had up in the main hall. She chuckled a tad.

"Well I guess you could fight with your bare knuckles if you really wanted, but really a weapon of choice is more ideal don't you think?"

She gave a spirited wink, then stole a sideways glance to the taller of the pair.

"And you too, unless you would rather use that scarf as a lasso."

"Humpf?" Logos snorted, glancing down at his father's scarf and holding the end of it tightly in his palm.

"Heys, what's this?"

Ormi bent down and stretched out a hand, gripping at a strange curved edge at the very bottom of the mound, aaah Ormi awkward as ever. Sending the rest of the mail, plates and blades battering down with another horrendous bang, he arose presenting a large, finely decorated, circular shield.

"Bwa ha!" Ormi trumpeted, a triumphant smile strung about his round face. "This is awesome!"

"A shield? Really?" Logos simpered. "She said a weapon, Ormi, a weapon."

"It is a weapon, heres watch."

With that the large man swung it over his forearm and with a great jolt pummelled the remainder of the stack of items with the full brunt of it's smooth convex surface. His comrade did naught but to run his hand down his forehead, embarrassed for the man and also trying to sooth the growing pain in his ears and temple.

Leblanc scratched her own ear a little.

"Well it is an interesting choice, I originally had that prototype made as an example of a mass defence technique I was thinking of using when out on missions but then I thought when on Earth do Sphere Hunters fight in great numbers eh?"

She rested her elbow and forearm on a shelf next to her, laughing a little to herself and giving them a coy smile, as if they knew all about running a businesses like this.

"No, my workers prefer sneaking, quick sprints and sleuthing, to get the job done."

She caught a glimpse of Ormi's bewildered face, and blushed a tad, feeling that she may have worried the poor man into thinking he had made a poor choice.

"Whatever makes you happy, love. This can be your room then." She said simply.

She shimmied back through the room's stock.

"If all is well with you, I'll leave you here to have a little clean up and sort out your new...new place. I'll get some of the goons to give this all a good, proper clear out tomorrow."

Logos shifted past a crate and began to approach the armour littered corner of the room but was stopped by a firm pat on the shoulder.

"You, love, come with me."

With that she gave his scarf a playful tug and strolled out into the passageway once more.

After calling out to Ormi to come back upstairs when he was ready for supper (which teased Ormi's howling stomach greatly, though he thought it rude to drop everything immediately and stuff his face) Leblanc had lead Logos a little way further down the tunnel, heels re-establishing that demanding clip-clop they had heard earlier.

Descending down further into the dark she stopped at another door, interestingly at this one she brought out a small and sparse ring of keys. His stomach gave the hint of a queasy lurch as he recalled his mother fumbling at his old bedroom door. He looked down at the scarf and twiddled the tassels through his fingers.

"I don't really approve of having locked doors down here if I'm honest, love." She muttered, eyeing one of the keys, trying to remember which one was paired with this lock. "I just don't think it shows a great level of trust, I don't have a lock on my door upstairs for the exact same reason, I like to think my employees can trust me and I them."

Her eyes floated to his fidgeting fingers, and a knowing smile played momentarily on her lips. She had found it, a short, slightly rusted key with sharp 'teeth'. With a little rattle she slid it into the lock and turned it, pushing the doors open smoothly.

This room was very different from the one Ormi had just claimed. It was more than modest compared to Logos's unnecessarily spacious room back at his old home but with his noticeable lack of possessions now it actually worked perfectly for his needs. There was only two sets of shelves in this room to which items were being stored, glancing over the tall man could see them filled with particularly organised white boxes but other than this the room only had a few pieces of stacked furniture in. It's adorning feature though was a long bed centred to the back wall.

Leblanc entered and drummed her nails on one of the white containers.

"This room was supposed to be a medical bay, that's why the bed is here."

She lazily waved her hand over to the mattress though Logos wasn't fully concentrating, the word 'medical' was ringing in his brain a little (or that could just be the headache Ormi had incited) and memories of home sparked in his mind for a few seconds, making him feel a little sick, hm, ironic, perhaps this was the room he needed.

"But in the end we decided to go with a bigger room so we could accommodate more. Oh that reminds me," she spun round to face him, "I should probably tell you we have our own Doctors here but anything really serious, Yevon forbid," Logos laughed a little at the way she sweetly placed her hands in a pray position and looked at the ceiling, "it's straight to the Hospital in Bevelle. Fortunately we haven't had anything like that yet, and I want to keep it that way, love."

She winked and then tottered over towards the bed.

"So yes, no ones used it, so you won't catch anything."

She gave his arm a jesting pat and laughed but quickly trailed off as she found him silently peering over the bed. She simply inspected his expression for a moment, feeling a slight awkward.

"You know," she spoke softly, "you two have been awfully quiet since we came down here."

Logos's conscientiousness suddenly came spilling back to his brain and he turned to her abruptly with an embarrassing jumbling sound of 'huhwha?' He brown eyes showed a sense of inquisition. He quickly gathered himself.

"Oh oh it's nothing, we don't mean to offend, if that's how it seems of course. I think we're both just...just,"

He searched deeply within his mind for a moment, struggling to uncover a single working brain cell.

"Just tired." He sighed, putting his fists on the bed and drooping down. "It's been a long few days."

It was quiet for a few seconds and then he felt something pat him thrice gently on the back. He turned and looked back up at her, she was smiling again, the corner of his mouth curled up a fraction, just smiling back.

"I think perhaps it's time you two got some food and sleep then yes?" She said.

He uncurled himself and stood straight again.

"Yes, indeed."

"It's important to note though that, well, you two must have heard a few things about me before you came here."

"Hmm?"

What an odd thing to say in response. He looked at her bemused for a moment, hands on his back stretching a bit, she cocked her head towards the bed and baffled his eyes drifted haphazardly back to the chaise. A flash of horror struck through his bones as on the bed lay the crumpled, torn and stained article they had found in the papers, the heart savagely creased and showing all the signs of abuse; stuffed in the back of pockets and forgotten about until it was a last resort.

"Err, I-" He began.

"There are people out there, who don't like me very much."

Logos could not be more thankful for her cutting in but was not so pleased at her now knotted brow and sad eyes.

"There are a number of reasons why but people do say things about me and I know they do. I know your opinions have been influenced."

Her head rose and for a minute their eyes were locked in a stare that for him was almost unbearable. His heart was thumping in his chest, his brow, that had been cooled so instantly by her soothing tone was becoming clammy again; please, through this idle misfortune, had he not completely and utterly stuffed it.

"You are allowed to think whatever you want of course but please allow me to prove different. I will be authoritative and you will work hard here but honestly I don't like to see people unhappy or put down; if there is a problem, I want to help."

She bit her lip slightly, expression all the more sullen, and muttered something.

"I am not a bitch...or I'm not a hooker."

She looked at..nothing in particular for some seconds, then tucked a few strays hairs behind her ear and walked about him, heading for one of the shelving units.

"Boss."

She turned to him blankly.

"If it's any consolation, though I did hear some rumours, I personally never received that nature of impression from you in the least."

She grinned, flattered, and nodded at him.

"Why thank you, love."

Over the next few minutes Logos surveyed her curiously. After her brief moment of melancholy she had knelt down and begun rifling round the back of the shelf, at one point he aided her in moving it so she could forage deeper into the unseen and, it seemed, neglected corner behind it. His head was still too fuzzy, and still a little painful, to do any proper thinking so instead he had entertained himself with just looking at her, her position was very pleasing.

She finally pulled out six metal boxes, much like the white containers on the shelves. One of her pink sleeves came up and ran across her forehead as she pushed one towards him with her foot.

"Have a look." She sighed, a little flustered from the rummaging.

Gingerly he flicked the latches on the box and lifted the lid. Inside lay a set of finely polished throwing blades all mounted on handsome wooden handles and laid delicately in sheaths on a leather belt.

"Are, are these for me?" He asked.

"Well," she plonked another metal chest next to the one he had just opened, "no necessarily, there's more to see."

She unlatched this one and tapped it's lid.

"Pick one." She spoke impishly.

Methodically he opened all six boxes. In them he had discovered: a pair of short katana-like daggers, some knuckle-dusters with unfolding blade attachments, a type of ridged machete, a set of sharp armoured gloves with metallic claws and finally a suave sabre. He inspected each, carefully and prudently but ultimately returned each to it's case leaving him now scanning them thoughtfully.

Leblanc's eyes dulled and excited grin faded.

"What's wrong, love?"

He collected himself trying desperately to pick (his hand hovered back over the sabre briefly but then retracted).

"I'm sorry, I don't wish to offend but I don't think any of these weapons are right for me."

His eyes continued to breeze over them until she began to gently close the metal lids before her contemplating form.

"Well to be honest it's no surprise to me that a weapons expert be very particular about his choice of accessory." She said saucily, rising to her feet once more, he followed. "What do you like to fight with."

His mind whirred for a moment, probing at those worn out brain cells again. He closed his eyes delving deeper, trying to re-jog his logic and rekindle old memories and emotions of when he first learnt to fight. Involuntary his arms bent and his hands came up, level with his shoulders, making a bizarre gripping motion.

"I like guns." He finally spoke bluntly.

"Hmm?" That lip of her pouted a tad, "we don't really have any guns, we don't usually use them."

"I know." He responded.

Guns had always been a weapon associated with Yevon and the army mentality. They were very rarely seen outside that context in Spira, the Al Bhed had some but these were machina, they were very different to that iconic musket or rifle carried by the guard. Due to these implications they were deemed almost completely unsuitable for single or minute unit fighting; blades, bombs etc were the preferred. And smaller guns, the ones that could be suitable for solo battling had been coated with an atmosphere of distrust due to their intense use from the old Yevonite mercenaries, even though that occupation had died out nearly fifteen years ago now.

"That's understandable I suppose, it's probably what you know best, working for Yevon and such." She spoke this widespread opinion precisely. "We can work something out though."

She gripped his shoulder, shaking it spiritedly.

"I have some of the finest Al Bhed here, you wouldn't believe, they could make you anything to your exact specification like that!" She beamed, clicking her fingers.

She noted his mouth open and expression turn to heated anxiety.

"Don't worry, love, these ones can make more than just machina."

Logos still wasn't so sure if he even wanted to speak to another Al Bhed let alone fight with something they had had their grubby, sand-speckled mits all over.

"But that is something we can deal with in the morning."

She released his shoulder and strutted towards the door, opening it up once more.

"Well, Logos," he felt his cheeks warm a little, "I think enough talk now, you should probably come get some dinner."

Craning to the side he could see a few gaggles of men and women trudging behind her, all heading back up towards the large hall, babbling and chatting merrily, stomach's leading. A few peeked in at him inquisitively, one or two smiled and even waved, but eventually all found their empty guts calling a bit too loud to warrant stopping and introducing themselves right now.

He clutched his own aching stomach, actually feeling a bit faint.

"I'm sure Ormi is famished too." Leblanc added, trotting out of the door, beckoning him with her. "I usually take my meals in my room but today I think I may have a few announcements to make."

She chuckled and winked.

"Our arrival on the scene is really going to twist the fates of this place that much, hm?"

"Oh love, you don't know the half of it."


End file.
